Prerequisites
by Langleykel
Summary: Sydney takes her own advice. Long one-parter. SV


**Prerequisites**  
**By:** Ellie (Chshalogrl)  
**Rating:** PG  
**Summary:** Syd takes her own advice.  
**A/N:-** The insomnia is back. This was written over the past few (late) nights. Every time I sit down to update "TEIP" or "WWCH", I end up writing a new fic. I think I just must be on S/V overdrive in anticipation of their reunion. This is something a little bit different, but I've really enjoyed writing it. I hope you like it.  
Thanks to DarlingSaila for the partial beta! You rock, my dear.  
  
**Dedications:** To my beloved **Blossom286** because she's a wonderful friend and an amazing author. I have such high hopes for you, my dear. You are truly a strong, beautiful, and special person. I feel so privileged to know you...and to have spoken with you on the phone! And to **Angvau57** because it was her writing that motivated this fic in the first place. This is my "Ode to Angela". :)Hope it doesn't disappoint.   
  
   
  


**Prerequisites**  
  


  
The light from the television flickered throughout the living room like an eerie strobe as she sat hunched over the files on his coffee table. The anonymous program was on mute, as her television always seemed to be, and she offered no more attention to the figures on the screen than the occasional upward glance and sigh over the lack of quality television programming.   
  
Tracing the circular rim of her shallow glass, she gripped her evening cocktail and gave it a gentle shake before raising it to her lips and draining it of the amber liquid. With a quick flick of her wrist, she dumped an ice cube into her waiting mouth and bit down on it with delicious force before frowning at the drops of condensation that now marred the file in front of her.  
  
_Reed, Lauren._  
  
The name caused her lip to curl disgustedly as the thought of the pain her deception had caused for Vaughn. It was certainly no surprise to anyone privy to her family history that she was vehemently opposed to swallow missions. To lie, cheat, and steal was one thing. Such tasks were a part of her jobdescription and she did them well. But to do so under the pretense of loving someone and building a life with them. And Vaughn was proof of her one-time belief in the purity of love.   
  
She sighed softly as she imagined what he was doing at that very moment. Since discovering Lauren as the mole, he had been assigned to maintain the charade of their marriage and to act completely oblivious to her alliance with The Covenant. It had been agonizing to see another woman wearing Vaughn's ring, accepting Vaughn's kisses, laughing at his terrible jokes. But even now, she just wasn't sure that the pieces would ever fall into place for them. Fate seemed to have an assortment of plans for them and it looked as though their romance was and always would be a short-lived one.  
  
She gave an indignant grunt when she felt her eyes aching with the weight of her tears. She hadn't cried in at least two days and she was fairly certain that her body had been thrown off by such an irregularity. Slamming the file closed, she crossed her arms over her chest and stared dazedly at the television.   
  
A hockey game was on now.  
  
In one instant, she had repossessed the remote control from between the cushions of the couch, and began flipping furiously through the channels, her thumb pulsing against the button in near involuntary motions as she blinked to the rapid beat of the blinking screen.  
  
The doorbell pulled her from her catatonia. And heaving a sigh of defeat, she lifted herself to her feet to see who could possibly have come to see her.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
He stood awkwardly in front of flat, dark green door and stared at the worn brass fixtures with a timid eye. Fiddling with the square item in his hands, he leaned a bit to his left in an attempt to discover some evidence of her current state. The blinds were folded against the windowpane, letting only the dimmest bit of light flicker through the cracks. _She must be watching television_. Turning the item over, he glanced quickly at the short list he'd read several times over since discovering the item in her old bedroom.  
  
Jack had never been overly fond of Michael Vaughn. He'd worked with and respected Bill Vaughn, so he'd tolerated the younger agent out of respect to his deceased father, but his skepticism had never failed when Agent Vaughn had been assigned to Sydney's file. Still, he couldn't deny the successes the pair had achieved during their partnership and he wasn't surprised when their professional pairing had transitioned into something much more intimate. Sydney had never seemed so happy and after the disappointment he had caused her throughout her childhood, Jack certainly wasn't in a position to intervene.   
  
So he watched from an onlooker's perspective as his daughter fell more and more in love with her handler. He noticed the twitch in her lips when their gazes would cross during debriefings, the eager bounce in her step when the couple walked side-by-side, and he was mindful of the concern etched deeply into her features when Agent Vaughn would find himself in a volatile situation. However, Jack had been so fixated on the evidence of his daughter's emotions that he had never quite realized just how mutual the feelings were.  
  
It had taken the sight of the sobbing man sitting amongst the rubble of his daughter's house for him to realize the depth of Michael Vaughn's feelings for his daughter. So he had pulled him up from the mounds of ash and soggy splinters of wood to exorcise the demons that one inevitably faced after losing the one they love.   
  
It had taken the sight of this grieving man sitting in the center of his bedroom whispering desperately to the pictures around him for Jack to realize that Michael Vaughn might just drown in the depth of those feelings.   
  
  
_Nearly 3 Years Earlier_  
  
_No one had answered the door. Out of concern for Vaughn's devastation, Jack had jiggled the doorknob to the apartment only to find that it was open. With silent steps, he ventured through the unfamiliar space to the near-silence of the whistling air conditioner. The clatter of glass against glass was the betrayer of Agent Vaughn's whereabouts and Jack moved quickly down a short hallway. He halted in the doorway of a bedroom where he was met with the sight of the familiar figure huddled next to a bottle of liquor and a multitude of photographs spread across the plain, gray carpeting.   
  
It wasn't until Jack cleared his throat that Vaughn even acknowledge his presence.  
  
"What the hell are you doing here?" His voice was raspy as though he'd been screaming ceaselessly for the weeks since __Sydney__'s death. Though his eyes were bloodshot and watering heavily, he was cleanly shaven as he ran a hurried hand over his exhausted countenance.  
  
"The door was open." Jack paused. "I'm pleased to see, Agent Vaughn, that in all of your self-destruction, you've still managed to keep tabs on your razor."  
  
Vaughn's eyes widened slightly before the hand was back at his cheek, his own thumb brushing across the cleft in his chin in a motion that looked remarkably like a lover's gesture. "__Sydney__ doesn't like when I don't shave every day. Stubble irritates her skin." He glanced down towards the photographs. "Right, Syd?"  
  
And in a moment of terrifying enlightenment, Jack moved towards the pile of photos and leaned down to survey the creased and glossy images of his daughter. __Sydney__. As he had never seen her before. Living the parts of her life that he hadn't been a part of. __Sydney__ smiling shyly for the photographer.__Sydney__ laughing gleefully as Vaughn sneaked a pair of "bunny ears" behind her head.   
  
He watched as Vaughn took a swig straight from the long-necked bottle before snatching a photo of __Sydney__ on ice skates. And Jack was startled to find his throat swelling with pain as his daughter's drunken beau began to whisper. "I bought you a pair of skates, Syd. They were supposed to be a surprise, but I couldn't wait. Let's go try them out later. Okay?"  
  
Silence seemed to be a good enough answer for Vaughn as he nodded in satisfaction before taking another drink._  
  
  
  
He'd known then and there that Michael Vaughn and Sydney Bristow had been meant to be together. He didn't like subscribing to such ideas of fate and destiny, and he certainly didn't relish the idea of pushing his daughter back into the arms of another man. Especially when he had only recently become accustomed to having her in his own embrace. But he was more than willing to give her that nudge if it meant that he could hug her without having to worry about drying her tears. Some might say that his moral code was more than slightly scrambled, but his daughter had never failed to be first and foremost in his thoughts. He would do this for her.  
  
With a gentle hand, he lowered the small item to her doormat, firmly pressed the doorbell, and moved swiftly out of sight.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Her front door was swollen in the cool evening air and she offered a silent apology to her waiting visitor as she pried it open. A wave of cool air chilled her as soon as she stepped out into the open and she found herself rubbing her bare arms as she looked around, puzzled by her empty doorstep. _Probably just some teenaged prank._ Taking one more look around, she turned to go back inside and finish her pity party in silence. But an impulse caused her to glance down at her bare feet and her brows lifted slightly at the sight of a small book laying flat on her doormat.  
  
She was suspicious at first. She was, after all, a spy. And mysterious packages tended to be the reddest of flags in the world of espionage. But at closer examination, she was startled by the familiarity of the object. Picking it up, she moved quickly back into her apartment before slamming and locking the front door behind her.   
  
Sinking back into the comfort of her couch, she turned the blue book over with a sense of awe. And she felt a small smile tug at her lips as she traced the embroidery of the front cover. She knew exactly where the book had come from. It had been one of the castaways in her move from her father's house to her college dorm and she hadn't seen it since that fateful day.   
  
She knew her father had left it for her. But what she didn't know was why. So she decided to start from the beginning and as she pulled the stiff front cover open, she found herself transported to another world.   
  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_April, 1988_**_  
  
The day was supposed to be special. She'd dreamed all night about waking up to her mother's smiling face, pink and purple balloons, and perhaps a springtime bouquet carefully selected by her father. It wasn't everyday a girl turned thirteen after all.   
  
But with the sound of the day's weather blaring over the speakers of her clock radio, she knew that her dream was just that. So she buried herself beneath her lavendar comforter with her eyes squeezed tightly shut and willed herself to return to the fantasy land where her mother was singing "Happy Birthday" and her father was making a special batch of chocolate-chip pancakes…just for her.  
  
"__Sydney__! Breakfast!"  
  
The shrill voice of Olivia, her live-in nanny, diminished any hopes of luring herself back to sleep and, with a sigh, __Sydney__ threw the edge of her blankets away from her body and proceeded with her normal morning routine. Just another day.  
  
Olivia was a now graduate student working towards her PhD in Child Development and had been hired by __Sydney__'s father following her mother's death. While Olivia was quite a skilled nanny in most respects, she wasn't quite as proficient in her culinary skills, and __Sydney__ couldn't hide the grimace that appeared on her face as she arrived in the kitchen.  
  
No bouquet. No balloons. No parents.   
  
Instead she was greeted by a plate of burnt scrambled eggs, soggy toast, and pulpy orange juice. The perfect start for birthday to forget. Sitting down in her chair, __Sydney__ couldn't help but pout slightly. Surely her friends would remember that she was thirteen today, but she certainly couldn't help but be disappointed at the lack of celebration in her own house.   
  
"Breakfast okay?" Olivia moved to stand behind her and began to divide __Sydney__'s hair in preparation for her usual French braid.   
  
"S'fine." __Sydney__ replied glumly.   
  
"Your dad was sorry he couldn't he here today, but he left this for you."   
  
__Sydney__ brightened slightly at the mention of her father and turned to Olivia with a hopeful smile. "He got me a present?" Her hopes were immediately dashed however as she caught the apologetic expression on Olivia's face as she handed Sydney a check before tying off the long, brown braid.   
  
A $100.00 check made out to Sydney Bristow, the words "Sydney Birthday" scribbled across the 'Memo' line.  
  
__Sydney__ stared at the check with disappointment before heaving a sigh of boredom and letting it drop to the table. She continued to poke and prod at the inedible breakfast when a small package wrapped in pink paper slid across the table to appear in front of her.   
  
__Sydney__ glanced up at Olivia in surprise.  
  
Olivia shrugged good-naturedly. "Happy Birthday, Syd."  
  
Feeling her spirits lift just the tiniest bit, __Sydney__ chewed excitedly on her bottom lip as she tore into the paper and freed a small blue book from the wrapping. Turning it over to examine it, she smiled at the pretty, blue-denim cover with the neatly stitched daisy on the front. Flipping through the thick pages, she found that she was slightly intimidated by their blankness. But she smiled at Olivia and nodded. "Thank you."  
  
Olivia nodded. "You're growing up. A girl your age needs to start writing the important things down. Someday, a long time from now, you'll want to remember who you were when you were young." Olivia gestured towards the book. "That will tell you who thirteen year-old __Sydney__ was. And what she wanted." She glanced towards the grandfather clock in the living room. "But you're going to be late if you don't get going."  
  
Nodding, __Sydney__ quickly scooped up the journal and dropped it into her backpack. And as soon as she arrived in homeroom, she tugged it from her backpack and chewed thoughtfully on her pen.   
  
Dear Diary…  
  
No. Too dumb and babyish. __Sydney__ shook her head. Anne Frank had given her diary a name. And she'd written as though she were talking to her best friend. __Sydney__ quickly erased the words and thought about the person she wanted to share her deepest and darkest secrets with. It wasn't a difficult decision.  
  
Dear Mom…  
  
_  
*  
*  
*  
  
Sydney grinned as she read some of her first entries. Because Olivia had mentioned writing down the "important things", she'd spent a good portion of her thirteenth year trying to write things that seemed important. She had attempted to sound more intelligent and grown-up by discussing books and future goals. It wasn't until she was nearly fourteen years old that she began to open up to the journal as though she were truly speaking to her mother.   
  
Brushing her fingertips across her tongue, she turned several pages before she finally settled on a specific entry.   
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_June, 1990_**_  
  
  
Dear Mom,   
  
I can't believe that I've finally finished my first year of high school. I was so scared when I started because I thought that I would never fit in. I've always felt like I seem to blend into the background. Maybe it's because I do blend into the background when I'm here at home. Sometimes I don't think that Dad even knows I'm here.   
  
The other day I was almost in an accident. My friend Lisa's brother, Jake, was driving us home from school and a driver ran a red light. Luckily Jake saw the driver coming and he managed to slam on the brakes. He's a really great driver. And he's really smart too. He made sure we were okay before he brought me home. But when it happened, all I could think was that I didn't know who would go to the hospital for me. Probably Olivia. And I love Olivia. But she's not Dad. Or you, Mom.   
  
And even though we weren't actually in an accident, I was scared. And I cried when I got home. Would Dad cry if I died? Would he come to the hospital to visit if I got hurt? Part of me wished that I had gotten in an accident so that I could see if Dad really loves me. Maybe I sound like a baby, but I just wanted him to hug me and tell me that it was alright. But he was busy. He was in his study. He didn't even come out to say hello or ask me about my day.   
  
Lisa came up with this idea the other day. She made a list to describe her perfect boy. I thought it was stupid at the time. I even teased her a little bit. But I think I know what the first thing on my list would be.   
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.  
  
That's not too much to ask, is it? Is that stupid? I think it might be stupid. But that's what I would want.   
  
~__Sydney__  
  
_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
She could remember the near-accident like it had been only yesterday. An Aerosmith song had been assaulting her through the car's speakers and the vinyl seats had been sticky against her legs. She could still feel the lurch of the small vehicle and the deafening squeal of the brakes as they'd skidded into the intersection. And she could still remember the terror she'd felt as she sat alone in her room trying to discern whether or not her father would have been sad to see her go.  
  
_Funny how things change._   
  
Funny how Jack Bristow was now the most important man in her life. Even funnier was the fact that he'd made such an odd late-night delivery to her apartment. But captivated by her younger self, she kept the pages turning, and she smiled when she saw another familiar selection.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_October, 1990_**_  
  
Dear Mom,   
  
It's been a long time since I've had so much fun! A new girl transferred into my English class recently. Her name is Francie Calfo and she is one of the nicest people I've met in a really long time. We got paired for a presentation on Hamlet and we've really gotten to be good friends. I think we might even end up being best friends. It's nice because Lisa has been acting so different lately. She's got a new boyfriend and she never really has time to spend time with me.   
  
I spent the night at Francie's last night and her family is so wonderful. Her parents always know what's going on in her life. She hates it and she tells me that they're nosy, but I tell her that she's lucky. I don't even think Dad knows that I'm first in my class. My teachers have been telling me that I should consider applying to some Ivy-League schools. Maybe it would be nice to get away. But I still have two years to think about it.   
  
Anyway, Francie's parents took us miniature golfing and we had a blast! Her dad was so funny. He kept cracking all sorts of bad jokes and Francie was totally embarrassed. Afterward, we went back to her house and watched some videos. We told each other a bunch of embarrassing stories and we tried to make a cake. Apparently, you aren't supposed to turn the electric mixer on high when it's in the cake batter. Even Mrs. Calfo couldn't help but laugh when she saw us covered in chocolate.   
  
When I left, they told me that I was a lot of fun. They said that I can come back anytime. I never realized how much I love to laugh, Mom. I think that's #2 on my list. Remember? The list for the perfect guy?  
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset  
2. Someone who can make me laugh  
  
I think that this list might take awhile.  
  
~__Sydney_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
Sydney couldn't keep herself from laughing out loud as she recalled the cake-baking debacle. She and Francie had often reminisced over the memory. And so had Mrs. Calfo. But just as Sydney was delighted by the memory, she was also devastated by the fact that her best friend was no longer there to laugh with. Francie would have loved to read through the old journal with her. Especially she they both had starring roles in her entries. Blinking in an effort to dry her moist eyes, Sydney attempted to shake her emotions out of her head and she settled her focus on the next few entries. She knew exactly where she would find her #3.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_December, 1991_**_  
  
Dear Mom,   
  
I can't believe I'm finally writing this.   
  
I finally have a boyfriend. I'm sixteen years old and I finally have a serious boyfriend. Francie says I'm long overdue. She says that I intimidate guys because I'm smart, but I think that's just the excuse people use when they don't know what else to tell you. But he's a really nice guy. His name is Zachary McMartin and he asked me to go to Winter Ball with him. I don't know what I'm going to wear, but I'm going to have to pay for it myself because I don't want to have to ask Dad for the money. Francie told me that she'll go shopping for a dress with me. She's going to the dance too, of course. She's seeing a football player named Hank. I think we're all going to rent a limo and go together.   
  
I think that one of the reasons that I really like Zach is because he's really smart and serious about school. It's nice to be around someone who knows about literature and enjoys math. He doesn't think I'm a nerd. He challenges me to do even better in school. And he makes me want to reconsider the possibility of applying to Ivy-League schools. He's a senior so he's already applied to college. I'm sure he'll be able to go anywhere he wants. He's really a great person and I can't believe that he wants to be with me.   
  
Don't look the gifthorse in the mouth, I guess.  
  
I haven't kissed him yet. And I'm kind of nervous about that. The last time I kissed a guy was during a stupid game of Spin-the-Bottle at Lisa's house. It definitely didn't count. And it's always different the first time you kiss someone new. I really like Zach, Mom. I think I could love him someday. I really want to be a better person when I'm around him. And he made me realize what I want #3 to be.  
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.  
2. Someone who can make me laugh.  
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.  
  
He's all three of those things. I can't wait until Winter Ball!  
  
~__Sydney_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
Sydney could practically feel the butterflies of excitement that had been flitting around her stomach when she had written the entry. Zach McMartin had been her first love and, though she knew how things ended, she wouldn't change the feeling of being in love for the first time for anything. There was nothing in the world as euphoric.   
  
Except for true love.   
  
And she found herself thinking of Vaughn.   
  
But such thoughts didn't last long as she brought her knees toward her chest and let her chin settle upon the soft flannel of her pajama pants. Hugging her legs to guard herself from a sudden chill in the room, she let out a soft sigh.  
  
First love was euphoric. First heartbreak was devastating.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_May, 1992_**_  
  
Dear Mom,   
  
I can't believe I'm still writing in this ridiculous journal. I know it's a childish thing to do, but I don't really have many options when it comes to sharing matters of the heart. I feel stupid crying to my friends about this. And I'm certainly not going to talk to Dad. I'm so alone, Mom. I just feel like I don't want to go on anymore and I've never felt that way before in my life. If this is what happens when you fall for someone, I hope that I never fall in love again! Because it hurts. And I don't know if I could ever handle this kind of pain again. I don't know if I can handle it now.  
  
Zach broke up with me. I thought that everything was great between us. We decided to go to the prom together and I bought a new dress, got my hair done, and even got a manicure. He took me out to the most romantic dinner before we went to the dance. And he was so wonderful to me that night. He told me that he loved me and that he was going to miss me when he went to Yale in the fall. He told me that he wanted me to apply to Yale so that we could go to college together. And then he surprised me by telling me that he had gotten a room at the Hyatt for the night. So we went back after the dance and we ended up spending the night there. I was so nervous, but he was so sweet. He made me feel beautiful and special.   
  
And now I feel careless and stupid.   
  
That was last weekend. He broke up with me yesterday. He says that it's because he doesn't want to be tied down. No other explanations. I'm so disgusted with myself! I really thought that he loved me the way I loved him. And I know now how idiotic I've been. I've always thought of myself as being smarter than the types of girls who let guys take advantage of them. I guess I was wrong. I hate myself for being so vulnerable. I hate that Zach knows some of my most personal secrets. All I can do is cry. I'm not hungry and I can't sleep. I'm pathetic and weak. I hate this version of myself. And I hate that I'm so alone that I have to write all of this in a stupid journal.  
  
I've got another addition to the list.   
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.  
2. Someone who can make me laugh  
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do  
4. Someone who respects me.  
  
I'm starting to think that this guy doesn't exist.  
  
~__Sydney_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
Sydney felt her throat tighten at the familiar pain and despair that still saturated the scribbled words. She traced a nostalgic fingertip across the blotted remnants of the decade-old teardrops and pressed her lips firmly together. With a pang of maternal sympathy for her heartbroken teenaged self, Sydney let her eyes flutter to a close and let her mind roll back to the first time she'd been faced with the loss of a love.   
  
She could practically feel the thin cotton of her nightgown between her fingers, its pale pink darkened with her tears as she lifted the hem to dab at her eyes. She could have sworn that the thick purple pen was still shaking her hands. And she could almost feel the pressure of her smothered sobs as she tried to hide the noise from her father's detached curiosities.  
  
If someone had asked seventeen year-old Sydney whether it was possible to feel anymore pain that the suffering she had experienced in that moment, the answer would have been an unwavering 'No'.   
  
If only the chain of losses in Sydney Bristow's life had started and ended in 1992.   
  
If only she had been spared the horrors of working for Arvin Sloane and of losing Danny, the terror of losing two years, and the numbness of seeing Michael Vaughn in a committed relationship with another woman.   
  
Wetting her fingertip with her tongue, she continued to flip through the pages, and she smiled as she skimmed the entries that documented her slow but steady recovery her first painful breakup. Her smile faded somewhat as she realized that she was reaching the end of the journal entries…and the end of her childhood.   
  
It seemed more than coincidental that the spine of the small book was cracked down the center causing the pages to flip to the last entry in her makeshift biography. She remembered this entry more clearly than any others. And not just because it was the most recent. Sydney found herself suddenly fixed on an image. Her eighteen year-old self in a dark-blue cap and gown, sitting at her child-sized desk, scratching a furious epilogue into the cream-colored pages.  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_June, 1993_**_  
  
Dear Mom,   
  
It may be clichéd for me to say so. But I did it! I'm graduating from high school today. Most people say that high school flies by. But these have definitely been the longest four years of my life. I was out for a run the other day and I was thinking about all of the important things that have happened over the past few years. All of the firsts. And as much as I wish that I didn't go through them by myself, I know that I'm stronger for it. And I know that I'm ready to start at UCLA this fall.  
  
I have to keep this pretty short because Dad is waiting downstairs to drive me to the ceremony. He's actually coming. And Olivia is bringing her new husband with her. I'm so excited to see her and to meet him! But I just have to say…as much as I feel that I'm ready for the real world, I'm also scared. Surviving high school alone is one thing, but the world is a scary place. I'm not sure an eighteen year-old girl from a gated community in __Southern California__ is equipped to handle all of the obstacles in life…no matter how well she did in high school.  
  
This is going to be my last entry in this journal, Mom. I've been writing the important things here since I was thirteen and I'm eighteen now. I know that I've complained and called it childish, but the truth is…sometimes I really feel like I'm talking to you when I write here. So for my last entry on my last day of high school, I want to make a request. I guess you could call it a wish, although I'm not sure I believe in wishes. I'm scared. I have a feeling that there's a lot that I'm going to be facing now that I have to be a grown-up. I need someone to protect me. Someone to watch over me and care about my well-being. Maybe someone I could talk to…kind of like this.   
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.  
2. Someone who makes me laugh.  
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.  
4. Someone who respects me.  
5. Someone who will protect me.  
  
I guess that's it. That's my list. Five years and five prerequisites later.  
  
Dad's calling me so I've got to go. Wish me luck.  
  
~__Sydney__  
_  
*  
*  
*  
  
The front and back covers of the denim journal sat in her palms and she clapped the two ends together in tidy punctuation to her reading. Her eyes were rough from exhaustion and her fingertips were sensitive from the constant scraping against the journal's coarse pages. She glanced towards the glowing digital display on her VCR and squinted slightly as her eyes adjusted to the bright numbers. She'd been reading for nearly four hours and it was after midnight. She surprised herself with a sudden yawn and reached up behind her to pull the fringed blanket from the back of the couch. Tucking its edges around her slim frame, she began playing with the silky strands that bordered the fabric before she turned over on her side to eye the book as it rested on the coffee table.  
  
A satisfied sigh whistled from her lips and she relished the feeling of relaxation she felt as she let her eyes close and her muscles loosen. There was just one thing on her mind as she felt herself being pulled toward the warm embrace of slumber. She just couldn't seem to get the "list" out of her mind…  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
**_1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset._**_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"It's not your fault. How could any of us have known?"  
  
Though they had been sitting upright on the couch just moments before, they had eventually adjusted to the more comfortable spooning position, and the movement of his lips against the back of her neck rustled stray flyways that had slipped free from her ponytail.  
  
"I know that. But knowing doesn't make the guilt go away." She turned over in his arms and glanced upward. "I should have known Sloane's style. He's an eye-for-an-eye kind of man. Maybe we could have put Diane in protection or we could have…"  
  
"There's nothing we could have done." He cut her off with firm words and a stubborn frown. "You work every day to bring justice to Arvin Sloane. You're one person, Syd. And while you're the most capable person I know, it doesn't change the fact that there's only one of you." He paused when he saw her eyes narrow slightly and he recognized the slight tremor in her lip as she tried to keep her emotions in check. Gently, he tightened his arms around her middle and pulled her up until her face was even with his.   
  
"It's just…the kids. What if something were to happen to __Dixon__? And I don't know how __Dixon__ is going to function without Diane. I keep telling him that he'll be okay…" Her voice hitched slightly as she sniffled. "I just hope I'm right."  
  
Vaughn gave her a genuine smile before raising a hand to the moisture on her cheek. "He'll be okay. With someone like you as a friend, how could he not be?"  
  
* * * *   
  
**2.**** Someone who makes me laugh.**  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
"Touchdown!"   
  
Both Will and Vaughn threw their arms up in defeat and groaned loudly while Sydney and Francie high-fived each other.  
  
"Why didn't you tell me that they were star powder-puff players?" Vaughn inquired of Will.   
  
It was a beautiful spring day in __Los Angeles__ and as a means of celebrating a rare day off, the foursome had decided to hit the park for an invigorating game of touch football. Unfortunately for Vaughn who had declared it 'Guys vs Girls', both Sydney and Francie were rather accomplished handlers of the pigskin.   
  
Huddling together in preparation of their next strategic play, __Sydney__ was oblivious to her surroundings. So it was fairly safe to say that she wasn't ready to be bulldozed by her rather bitter nemesis in an attempt for vengeance. After charging her full-tilt, Vaughn had scooped her up and over his shoulder before tackling her to the ground for an all-out sparring match.   
  
The battle didn't last much longer than a minute or two before their pokes and punches turned to tickles and caresses. __Sydney__'s shrieks of laughter had captured the attention of both Will and Francie who observed from a few feet away. Just as __Sydney__ was charming Vaughn with a dimpled grin, both heard Will call out uncomfortably.   
  
"So…anyone know any jokes?"  
  
Vaughn sat back on the grass and pulled __Sydney__ up with him before turning to Will.   
  
"A grasshopper walks into a bar…"  
  
* * * *  
  
**3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.**  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
Sidling up to the desk in the small office, Sydney cleared her throat to get the attention of the man poring over a stack of papers before she moved to seat herself on his cluttered desk. His gaze started at legs that were dangling from the desk's edge and allowed it to rove upward until he was looking her in the face.  
  
She smiled when his eyes found hers and raised her eyebrows playfully when she saw that he'd loosened his tie and rolled his shirtsleeves up.  
  
"Long day, Agent Vaughn?"  
  
He sighed before nodding. "Actually, I'm glad you came in. I was looking over the details you submitted for the operation in __Prague__. I think there are some details that we need to go over and reconsider."  
  
__Sydney__ blinked. "Excuse me?"  
  
"It's not a big deal, Syd…"  
  
'It is a big deal. I can't believe you're telling me how to do my own assignment. Those plans are fine, Vaughn. Where do you come off deciding otherwise?" Crossing her arms over her chest, she challenged him with her narrowed eyes  
  
"I'm not some smitten schoolboy, Sydney! I'm not going to accept less-than-perfect just because we're together! Especially where your safety is involved."   
  
"Are you suggesting that I'm using our relationship as an excuse to scrimp in my work?"  
  
He shook his head in complete frustration before letting out an irritated groan. "I don't know what I'm saying! There's never been a moment that I haven't been aware of your intelligence, __Sydney__. But sometimes I think that your stubbornness and your brilliance are at complete odds with each other. I'm just suggesting that we look over these specs together to see if there's any way we can improve them."  
  
"You know what they say about too many cooks, Vaughn." She responded dryly.  
  
He glanced up from the folder and sent her a withering glare. "Your experience is in the field. It's your responsbility to accept the fact that things won't always go as planned. But I have a little bit more experience than you do when it comes to planning missions. You have to account for every possible outcome. I just think that there a few scenarios you might not have considered." He shrugged slightly as though to assure her that his comments were nothing to be angry about.  
  
Rolling her eyes, she lifted her shoulders in a relenting motion before remarking playfully.. "I guess this means that we're going to have a late night tonight."  
  
"I guess so."  
  
She regarded him carefully before continuing. "Vaughn?"  
  
"Yeah?"  
  
"You really think I'm brilliant?"  
  
* * * *  
  
**4.**** Someone who respects me.**  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
She felt like one half of a high-profile, celebrity couple. While she and Vaughn had been trying ceaselessly to keep their relationship under wraps, there had finally come an occasion when such secrecy just wasn't necessary.   
  
When Vaughn had requested that she accompany him to an employee's dinner party, she'd asked him if he was insane. After he had assured her that he wasn't, she had agreed. So they had arrived arm-in-arm at the impressive two-story home and with their subsequent displays of devoted affection, they'd managed to put the rumors to rest.   
  
Yes. They were a couple. No. They really weren't a very exciting one.  
  
So after a pleasant dinner and some friendly conversation, __Sydney__ had managed to escape the clutches of the other women so that she could go in search of Vaughn. Moving casually through the tastefully decorated home, she was relieved to hear his familiar voice echoing from the nearby den, and she was about to enter the room when she realized that they were discussing work. Rolling her eyes over the men talking shop at a social gathering, she decided to wait outside until there was a break in conversation so that she could snatch Vaughn and make a getaway.   
  
"I think I'll talk to Devlin about that. He might have some input since we've got some rookies that don't seem to know right from left." A man's voice finished.  
  
"You know, I think I'll discuss this with __Sydney__. I'd really like to get an agent's perspective on it before we take it any further. She's the best we've got right now. I've never met anyone who seemed so naturally suited to field ops. She's unbelievable with the improvisation and she's sharp. She's saved my ass more than a few times." He admitted.  
  
__Sydney__ froze in the hallway when she heard her name. And she couldn't keep herself from blushing as she listened to Vaughn singing her praises.  
  
Another man spoke up, "And it doesn't hurt that she's gorgeous."  
  
Vaughn responded with a chuckle. "No. It doesn't. But that's not why I respect her…"  
  
* * * *  
  
**5. Someone who will protect me.**  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
Soothed by the steamy cocoon she'd created during her hot shower, __Sydney__ wrapped herself in a terry robe before staring into the cloudy mirror. Raising a fist to the wet glass, she wiped the condensation away until she had a clearer view of herself. With caution, she pulled the front edges of the thick material apart and she frowned at the sight of her skin, mottled with bruises from her latest mission.   
  
The shower had helped to relieve some of the stiffness in her muscles, but she had yet to discover a way of remedying the post-mission ache that never failed to appear over every inch of her body. She was so busy with the task of assessing every mark and bruise, that she didn't hear the bathroom door open or feel the sudden trickle of cool air that had leaked into her makeshift sauna.  
  
It was only when another pair of hands appeared from around her waist that she glanced over her shoulder to see Vaughn with an expression that could only be described as something between tender and horrified.  
  
"Syd…" Her name wasn't much more than a breath on his lips and she could hear the hurt in his voice. "God, Syd. Why didn't you tell me?"  
  
She shrugged and fell into her habit of playing down her injuries to avoid further discussion. She knew by the scolding look in his eyes that he wasn't falling for it.  
  
"I'm sorry." He said solemnly before letting his lips hover over her towel-dried skin.  
  
"For what?" She glanced back at him in surprise.   
  
She could almost feel the dampness of her hair seeping into his shirt as he leaned in to answer.   
  
"I'm supposed to protect you. When you're hurt, it means I'm not doing my job."_  
  
*  
*  
*  
  
* * * *  
  
Not even two hours passed before the high-pitched screech of skidding tires managed to wrench her from the pleasant assortment of semi-conscious remembrances she seemed to have unleashed. As her upper-body snapped forward, the warmth of her blanket fell into her lap and left her bare arms exposed to the chilly night air. She didn't notice her own shivers however as she reached through the dark and felt for the embroidered denim of the journal. Once she had the book safely within her grasp, she kicked at the blanket and scurried blindly through her living room to flip the light switch.   
  
The sudden burst of brightness was a insult to her sleep deprived eyes and she groaned slightly before raising a hand to block out the intrusion. Journal still in hand, her bare feet slapped heavily against the kitchen flooring, and she impatiently rooted through her junk drawers until she found the felt-tipped marker she'd been in search of.   
  
Lifting the pen triumphantly, she let the journal fall open to her last entry, and she turned the page to one of the few remaining blank spaces. Pausing for a moment to consider whether or not her actions would be completely idiotic, she shrugged off her indecision and plucked the cap from the pen. Then, in her very cautious script, she dated the page and began to write.  
  
* * * * * * * *  
  
Michael Vaughn couldn't sleep. He hadn't truly had a good night's sleep since Sydney had returned. Emotional baggage tended to frighten away any semblance of restful slumber. But since he had discovered Lauren's duplicity, he truly hadn't been able to do more than let his eyes fall closed while his mind continued its wakeful activity.   
  
Tonight was certainly no different, he thought. And he forced himself to focus his attention on the re-run of the Kings game that he had discovered at such an obscene hour of the night. Following the quick-moving puck with a weary eye, Vaughn found himself thinking of Sydney. Lately, he wasn't sure there was a time that he _didn't_ think of Sydney. Though he knew that he was required to remain wedged in Lauren's uncomfortable charade, he couldn't help but fantasize about all the ways he would have reunited with Sydney if given the chance.   
  
He wasn't a complete idiot. He'd acted like one. But he wasn't. He knew that she'd been understanding of his decision to return to Lauren. But he also knew that he hadn't been the most compassionate of callers when he'd delivered the news. So while he fantasized about kisses and dimples and cheekbones and fingertips; he also recognized the more likely reality of a dark-green door slamming in his face.   
  
Not even hockey could take the sting out of _that_ wound.  
  
His wallowing didn't have a chance to wade any deeper in misery due to the sudden buzzing that rattled the coffee table at his feet. The blue display of his cellphone flashed obnoxiously and, puzzled, he glanced down at the caller ID before quickly answering the call.   
  
"Hello?"  
  
"Joey's Pizza?"  
  
_Huh?  
  
Oh._  
  
"Wrong number."  
  
A quick note to Lauren later, he was driving frantically towards a place he hadn't visited since just after meeting Lauren. _Lauren_ The thought of her repulsed him. Angered him to a level he hadn't known was possible. And in all of his frustration, he braked a little too suddenly, and his breath hitched as the car lurched over some loose gravel just outside of the warehouse.   
  
There were no cars outside and there was no sign of anyone inside as he pulled anxiously at the cyclone fencing before stepping inside. It required conscious effort on his part for him to block the barrage of memories that were inevitably linked to this particular location. It _had_ been her. He would know her voice in a crowd of hundreds and he knew that there was a reason for her to send him across town in the middle of the night.   
  
The reason was sitting atop a precarious stack of crates. A small, blue book with a daisy on the front. It was the only thing out of the ordinary in the space and he knew, with one look at it, that it was hers. So he picked it up with an air of reverence and he lowered himself to a stack of crates.   
  
And he met Sydney Bristow. The Sydney he had always wanted to know. The Sydney who'd existed before suffering at the hands of SD-6, Arvin Sloane, and The Covenant.   
  
He fell in love with her all over again.   
  
After skimming several of the entries, he lowered the journal to his lap and glanced down as it fell open to one of the last entries. The day of her high school graduation. The last entry in the book. But it wasn't the last entry, he realized. He could see the bold strokes of the next entry through the thick sheet of paper, and he turned the page over to read the true finale.  
  
**_April, 2004_**_  
  
  
The List-Final Version  
  
1. Someone to comfort me when I'm upset.  
2. Someone who makes me laugh.  
3. Someone who challenges me in all that I do.  
4. Someone who respects me.  
5. Someone who will protect me.  
6. Someone I can't live without.  
  
I thought that he didn't exist, but then I found you.   
  
Now, I'll wait._  
  
And he smiled.  
  
  
FIN   
  
Let me know what you think!


End file.
